The Birthday Scandal (26 page)

She realized abruptly that at the first sound from the hall she, too, had sat up even straighter than her mother had always demanded.
No doubt you look just as foolish as Chloe does.

Deliberately she composed her face and settled ever so slightly back in her chair, and told herself that the mere fact Gavin Waring had finally returned to the castle was no reason for her to feel excited.

L
ucien hoped that they had lingered long enough in the village over their ale for Lady Fletcher to finish her call and depart for home. Failing that, he thought perhaps they could slip in a side door and avoid being drawn into the socializing.

But on the ride from the village to the castle, they encountered two carriages full of the duke’s guests, and ordinary courtesy demanded that they all proceed together. In the castle courtyard, the footmen helped the guests to climb down. The first one to alight—an elderly lady with a nose so prominent Lucien thought it must precede her into a room—fixed a beady gaze on him and announced, “You’re Chiswick’s cub, aren’t you? I’ve a couple of young ladies here who want to make your acquaintance.”

Behind her, two giggling girls not long out of the schoolroom climbed down from the chaise. Lucien was so unnerved that he almost forgot about Lady Fletcher.

Maxwell tossed a sympathetic smile in Lucien’s direction. “Lady Stone, what a delight it is to see you again—and to meet your young friends. I’m sure they will also like to become acquainted with Lord Athstone, if I might be allowed to present him?”

Lady Stone’s gaze grew even beadier as her gaze came to rest on Gavin. “Weybridge’s heir?”

Under other circumstances, Lucien might have been amused by the smoldering look that Gavin gave Maxwell—but as it was, all Lucien felt was relief. With a duke’s heir present, no young woman was going to look at a mere viscount—even if he would someday be an earl.

“Indeed,” Lady Stone said, and there was a world of meaning in the single word.

Lucien let out a careful breath, feeling that he’d barely dodged a bullet.

Maxwell seemed to have read his mind, however, for he murmured wickedly to Lucien, “Of course, there are two of them. Plenty to go around.”

“Getting acquainted can wait,” Lady Stone declared, “while a glass of port to cut the travel dust cannot. Give me your arm, Maxwell. If I can burst in on the duke in all my dirt, you damned well can escort me.”

Lucien looked around wildly, hoping that someone from the second carriage might rescue him, but at last surrendered to the inevitable and offered his arm to the nearest young lady. He was pleased to see, however, that she was so busy goggling at Gavin, just ahead of them with the other young lady, that she almost missed the step at the entrance. For a moment she hung heavily on his arm, and then she caught herself, cast a look up at him through her lashes, and murmured something about him being her hero.

“No trouble, miss,” Lucien said shortly and hurried her on into the castle.

Once in the drawing room, his gaze was drawn almost instantly to Chloe, who was sitting off to the side, bolt upright. As he came into view, her eyebrows raised a fraction, and there was a question in her eyes. He glanced around, but everyone seemed to be paying attention only to the very assertive Lady Stone—the woman was good for something after all—so he gave Chloe the smallest of nods.

She seemed to sag in relief, closing her eyes for an instant. Then she sat up straight again, looked directly at Lucien, and smiled.

She had never smiled at him before—at least not a real smile, one that wasn’t simply a polite gesture. A stab in the heart couldn’t have surprised him more. She looked almost gay, relaxed, at ease—as though she was truly enjoying herself. As though she was happy to see him.

It wasn’t really Lucien who had put that glorious sparkle in her eyes and sent the warmth into her face, of course, but the news that her message had been delivered. Still, being on the receiving end of that look made Lucien’s breath stick tight in his chest. He hadn’t realized before that she was more than conventionally pretty, in the unremarkable way that many of the young women of the
ton
were. But the fact was that with joy and liveliness in her face, Chloe was absolutely beautiful.

He wondered if his father had ever seen her like this. If he had, no wonder Chiswick had been stunned enough to begin negotiations to marry her. The earl might be old, but he was still male—and when a woman smiled at him in that way, a man was bound to get ideas.

At least most men would.

Hell, Lucien admitted, even
he
had gone a bit out of focus for a minute there. And if someone as non-marriage-minded as Lucien could be confused by Chloe’s melting look and sultry smile, it would be no wonder if an old codger like Chiswick started to believe that in her company he might relive the glorious days of youth.

Chloe gave a discreet pat to the cushion beside her. Lucien shook his head a fraction. He understood she was eager for details, but surely she had more sense than to think a conversation between them could go unnoticed—especially if he strode straight across the room to sit by her.

Chloe bit her lip and her gaze slid to the young woman beside him.

“I am Miss Carew, by the way,” the young woman announced. “Lady Stone is a friend of my uncle. You may know him—Colonel Huffington? My sister and I are visiting my uncle, so Lady Stone invited us to come along when the duke’s invitation arrived. I am so excited to be a guest at a real castle; you have no idea!”

Lucien was barely listening. He was still watching Chloe from the corner of his eye. And he was wondering whether she was as certain as she seemed that Captain Hopkins would follow instructions. On a whim, he tugged Miss Carew over toward Chloe. “You must meet Miss Fletcher.” Belatedly, he realized he had sounded as though he were issuing an order, not making a suggestion—but the girl seemed accustomed to that tone of voice, since her uncle was a military man. She made a pretty curtsey to Chloe.

Chloe stood to return it, but she didn’t invite Miss Carew to sit down. A moment later, under the cover of a burst of laughter that drew Miss Carew’s attention to a group across the room, Chloe murmured, “All went well?”

Lucien couldn’t quite bring himself to agree, so he temporized. “Your letter has been delivered.”

Was the relief that flickered in her eyes mixed with something else? Before he could identify the emotion, it had passed and she was smiling again. “Then everything will proceed as I have planned. I thank you, Lord Hartford—I am greatly in your debt.”

Up close, Lucien realized, the effect of her smile was even stronger. He felt queasy—but he wasn’t certain whether that was the result of her smile or of her words.

She was betting on her soldier to carry out her wishes, and she had tossed all of her chips into this wager. Lucien couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to Chloe if Captain Hopkins didn’t come through in exactly the way she expected he would.

Gavin hadn’t exactly ignored what Lucien had been telling him for days now—that as the heir of one of England’s wealthiest dukes, he would be sought after and courted not for himself but for his potential title. But he hadn’t expected the chase to start here in the castle—a place where, much to his surprise, he had already begun to feel safe and at home.

And he hadn’t expected to have so little time before the pursuit grew determined. But the fact was—at least as far as the Carew sisters were concerned—he might as well have a target painted on his chest.

Even as the Carews took turns attempting to enchant him, he found some comfort in noting that Lucien, too, had to fend them off. All through tea, and again as the group gathered in the drawing room before dinner, Gavin’s attention was divided between being politely discouraging to the ladies and frankly enjoying watching Lucien.

But even Maxwell hadn’t entirely escaped feminine attention, Gavin realized. A particularly lovely young matron whose carriage had arrived not long after Lady Stone’s—Lady Murdoch was her name—had been flirting with Maxwell from the instant she’d entered the drawing room. With every passing minute, she grew more animated. Her laugh trilled higher, and her fingertips brushed more closely across Maxwell’s sleeve.

And with every passing minute, Isabel seemed to freeze just a bit more solid. Gavin wondered if she realized how obviously her irritation was showing.

What was it Emily had told him? Maxwell had been rumored to have a mistress before he married. Nothing unusual about that, of course. But from the look of things, Maxwell’s mistress was anything but in the past.

After dinner, Isabel rose from the hostess’s chair to lead the ladies out of the dining room, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars, and it was all Gavin could do not to heave a sigh of relief.

Lucien moved down the table to sit beside him, sharing a rueful grin. “At least we have a few minutes of peace from the muslin company, and I intend to enjoy every instant. Are you going to pour that port or only stare at it, Gavin?”

Gavin filled his own glass and handed the decanter on. “Are all the ladies of the
ton
quite so determined?”

“Some of them are more so. Or their mothers are, which is even worse. Now you understand why I avoid London parties at all costs. I just never expected Uncle Josiah to play me false like this, bringing the hounds right into the house.”

“I suppose it’s good practice,” Gavin said. “Dealing with them a few at a time.”

“I’d rather
not
deal with them. I’m locking my bedroom door tonight, and I advise you to do the same.”

Not a bad idea.
Since Emily wouldn’t be appearing beside his bed again, looking like a delightful phantom in her white nightdress, he might as well make certain no one else could surprise him. He doubted the Carew sisters would be as open-minded as Emily was about lessons in making love. At least, he suspected, their views regarding proper conduct on the morning after would be very different from Emily’s.

He was not looking forward to his lonely bed. The tall, carved four-poster had felt very empty in the early-morning hours after Emily had slipped away to her own room. Feeling noble because he had successfully resisted the urge to complete the act—and leave her with no questions whatever about what lovers did—was little consolation.

Still, leaving her maidenhead intact had been the right thing to do, for Emily was obviously rethinking her options. The carriage that had delivered the lady who might be Maxwell’s mistress had also brought a young man whom Emily clearly knew. Though she hadn’t flirted with the young Baron Draycott as she had with Lancaster at the Fletchers’ party, it had been apparent to Gavin that she was enjoying the baron’s company in the drawing room before dinner. She had smiled and leaned ever so slightly toward him to share an observation, as though she was feeling quite serious about the young man.

Gavin looked across the table to where the Earl of Chiswick was chatting with Draycott. “Friend of the family?” he asked Lucien in a low voice.

“Who? Draycott? His sister was at school with mine, I think—so he went around a bit with Emily when she first had her come-out.”

“She seemed happy to see him this afternoon.”

“Did she? I suppose she might have missed him, though she never complained when Father discouraged him from setting his sights on her. Father said it was because Draycott has so little brain, but I always thought he was set on Emily bringing a bigger title into the family than a mere barony.”

“Lancaster has no title at all, but the earl seems to think he would be a good match.”

“Well, things changed, what with Philip and all,” Lucien said cryptically. “Now Father might think even Draycott would be a good thing for Emily.”

Gavin let his gaze drift over the young baron. “He looks like a lamb, with all that unkempt curly hair.”

Lucien’s laugh sounded more like a snort. “That, my friend, is the newest style. But he
is
a bit of a sheep—Emily would have her own way on every question.”

Gavin wondered if that was what she wanted. But at least the choice was still hers; he had done the right thing, and he knew it.